


A Matter of Seduction

by spikesgirl58



Category: Man from Uncle - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-08
Updated: 2013-04-08
Packaged: 2017-12-07 21:23:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/753215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>93) MATTERS OF SEDUCTION ( 4/8)<br/>by AMANDA STEVENS </p><p>Silhouette Intrigue</p><p>Inhibited agent turns wanton man! </p><p>Special Agent Illya Kuryakin was anxious to leave his desk job and get out in the field, but his all-too-handsome boss, Napoleon Solo, has denied each request he’s made. So when the opportunity to catch a cunning serial killer arose, Illya would do anything to prove himself. He’d even strip off his 'plain Jane' persona and pose as a seductive tempter in the hopes of luring out the murderer. </p><p>Instead, he unleashed an even more dangerous scenario between him and his boss. Though taking on the elusive killer threatened his life, would falling in love with Napoleon be the greatest risk of all risk at all?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Matter of Seduction

“ _дерьмо_!”  Illya slammed the paper down on his desk and flung himself into his desk chair.” _Дерьмо!”_ he repeated.

Jacob Mayers looked up from the file he was proofing and frowned.  “I don’t speak Russian but I have a feeling that classifies as a bad word.  What’s wrong?”  He leaned over and glanced as the paper.  “You’ve been denied again?  Hey, they’re on third rotation now.”

“I know.”  Illya struggled to keep his Russian accent at bay.  “What do they want from me?  They picked me!  I went through the training and did everything they have asked.  Why am I still behind a desk?”

Mayers shook his head slowly and closed his file.  He’d been in two classes behind Illya and the man’s exploits were still the stuff of legends.  The fact that Old Man Cutter had had him teaching  the explosives class was, in itself, remarkable.

“Why does that man hate me so much?”  Illya took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.  They were blood shot from reading all day and drinking most of the night.  He was so bored and so lonely that it was all he could do to keep from marching into Waverly’s office and demanding to be sent home.  Of course, a good Soviet would never do that.  A good Soviet would shut up and put up with the hand he was dealt.   Illya was a very good Soviet.

“Hey, tell you what.  Let me finish this report.  Then we’ll go grab some dinner and a drink.”

Illya looked at the man, a little shocked.  This was the first time someone had extended the hand of friendship to him.  It was his nature to be cautious and wonder what the man’s angle was but loneliness is a powerful force.

“I would very much like that.”  Illya mustered a smile.  “I will file these for you, yes?”

“Thanks!  That would be a great help.”

A highly trained agent, tops in all his classes and he was filing reports.  Illya was just glad his father couldn’t see him.  Papa would be so ashamed of him.  Illya took the top file and glanced at it.

“What is a… honey trap, please?”

“Huh?

Illya grinned.  “You are blushing, so I am assuming it is sexual in nature?”

“Didn’t they talk to you about such things?”

“They who?  My parents?”

Mayers laughed then and shook his head.  “No, nutso, Cutter’s boys.   Honey traps use the promise of sex as a lure.  Why do you ask?” 

“There is a file here that lists a…” Illya sounded the name out. “D-d-dwight Leessster?”

“Dwight Lester, yeah, he’s a big name in THRUSH.”

“It suggests that he could be caught using one of these honey traps.  It says he likes young blond men.”

“Before you get the wrong idea, Illya, he’s already killed three of our best agents.”

“If he killed them, then they could not have been the best.”  He grabbed the folder and headed for the door.

“Illya, where are you going?”

“I’m tired of playing Mr. Solo’s game.”

“You don’t know what you’re asking…”

“To the contrary.  I think I do.”  Illya paused.  “Do not worry, I will still meet you for food and drink but I must do this first.”

                                                                                *****

 

Napoleon Solo stared off into the distance and let his eyes drift shut.  He’d taken up the reins of Section Two just a few months earlier and it wasn’t getting any better.  When his partner, Frank, was at the helm, he made it seem so easy.  Napoleon knew Frank had a conscience and felt the death of every Section Two agent, but it didn’t seem to bother Frank.  It was a shame Frank died before passing on his secrets.

Secrets, the word forced Napoleon’s eyes open and down to the papers on his desk.  He’d turned Kuryakin’s request for active duty down for a third time.  It was getting almost impossible to find excuses to keep the man from the field and yet Napoleon did.

It wasn’t that the man wasn’t capable.  Hell, he was probably the best agent they currently had, but long and the short of the matter was that Napoleon was scared.  This agent represented their first tentative cooperation with the Soviets.  The last thing he wanted was to hand them their Golden Boy back on a platter.

There was also the matter of Napoleon’s own feelings.  He’d watched the agent from the minute he’d arrived and had quietly and, unexpectedly, fallen in love with the man.  It had take Napoleon by complete surprise.  Granted he wasn’t opposed to a roll in the hay with another guy.  This time the strength of the attraction had simply taken his breath away.  And the Soviet didn’t have a clue or, apparently, interest.  Men and women had been hitting on him for the last six months and Kuryakin ignored them all.  Napoleon didn’t know if the man was simply not interested or that controlled.  In either case, it didn’t bode well for Napoleon.

There was also the matter of Napoleon now being his superior and it could look bad for both of them if Napoleon succumbed.   Instead he kept denying the request that would put Kuryakin in harm’s way and thereby keeping him safe.   At least Napoleon had avoided it this time around and Kuryakin would have to wait the requisite three months before applying again.  Hopefully Napoleon would have a new excuse by then.

There was a knock on the door but before Napoleon could answer, his problem walked through the door and dropped a file on his desk.

“What is this?”  Napoleon asked without needing to.  He’d seen as much of this file as he wanted to.  That was why he’d sent it to be retired.  If they were going to catch this bastard, it was not going to be at the extent of another agent.

“I want this.”

“Excuse me, Agent Kuryakin, but you are hardly in a position to make demands.”  Napoleon met the smoldering blue-eye glare head on.

“I am uniquely qualified for this assignment.”

“Three men have already tried and died.”

“I will not die and I will not fail.” Kuryakin slapped his field request down on Napoleon’s desk.  “You cited a lack of field work.  Give this to me.  If I fail, then I will withdraw my request from Section Two and reapply for something in the labs.  At least down there I can be of some good to UNCLE as opposed to filing paperwork.”

“You could be killed!”

“In either case, I will be out of your hair.”

Napoleon worked hard to hold on to his temper.  “Mr. Kuryakin, this man has raped and brutalized three experienced agents.   What hope do you have, some wet-behind-the-ears agent?  Have you even had sex?”

Kuryakin’s eyes widened and for a moment Napoleon was afraid he’d pushed the agent too far.  Moving faster than he should have been able to, Kuryakin was around the desk and dragged Napoleon up by the lapels of his jacket.  He planted a kiss on Napoleon that threatened to make his eyes exploded.  So much for Kuryakin being the gentle virgin that so many people mistook him for.  No man kissed like that without previous and extensive experience.

Kuryakin dropped him back down and smirked.  “What do you think?”

“I could have you deported for that,” Napoleon sputtered as Kuryakin’s gaze dropped to Napoleon’s trousers.

“You would be making a mistake,” Kuryakin whispered.

“So have you.  You want Lester, fine, he’s yours, but you’re going along as backup.  You’ll go out with the strike team.  Now get the hell out of my office.”

Napoleon watched as Kuryakin retrieved the file and hurried away.   _God help both of them if he’s successful.  There would be no living with him._ Napoleon sighed.  _And there would be no living without him._

                                                                ****

Illya panted and tried to keep from collapsing.  Dwight Lester was sprawled, quite unconscious, across the bed, the victim of an UNCLE sleeper bullet.   Illya had never shot another person before and the action made his stomach roil.  Not that the bastard hadn’t deserved it.  Illya had gone into some worse situations than this one but not many. 

The one advantage that he had was that he looked weak.  Illya Kuryakin was not weak, but he was definitely feeling a little weak kneed.  The minute Solo’s back was turned, Illya had broken from the pack and slipped inside, easily passing himself off as Lester’s conquest for the night.

He hadn’t counted on Lester’s bloodlust or aggressiveness.  Illya had survived, but just.  The look of surprise in the man’s eyes as Illya shot him brought a twist of pleasure to Illya’s lips as he straightened.  He was stiff from the man’s sadistic sense of foreplay but it was nothing that wouldn’t heal.

Going to his clothes, he dug through them until he found his communicator and pulled it out.

“Open Channel D.”

“Channel D is open.  Solo here.  Where the hell are you, Kuryakin?”

Illya cocked an eyebrow and smirked.  “Send your team in, Mr. Solo.  Your package is waiting for you.”

“What?”  The question made Illya smile and he closed the channel and left the homing beacon on.  He tugged on his shirt and pulled up his trousers, grunting as he did up the fly.  The playing field was definitely closed for a little while.

Limping over to the prone Lester, Illya began to truss him up, taking great care with the knots.  Should, be some miracle he wake up early, it would impossible to undo the knots by himself without strangling himself in the attempt.  There were so many things Illya could share with UNCLE, if they would only see it his way.

That accomplished, Illya checked his weapon.  Without question, Lester’s minions would head here the minute things got uncomfortable out front.

Illya took an easily defensible position behind dresser and waited.  Sure enough the sound of gunfire drew closer and suddenly the bedroom door was kicked in.  A jump-suited THRUSH agent raced in.

“Mr. Lester, there are UNCLE agents outside!” He stopped at the sight of Lester tied up on the bed.

“Correction, there are UNCLE agents inside as well.” Illya dropped the man and then the one who followed.  Then there was a sudden fury of activity and Illya half rose.

A burning sensation tore through his arm and Illya gasped.  He dropped and clutched his arm, wincing as blood started seeping between his fingers.  Snarling, he grabbed his gun and shot the THRUSH point blank before dropping back to his knees.

“In there!” He heard Solo shout and Illya crouched expectantly.  He was not about to be shot a second time by friendly fire.

A group of men, all wearing black turtlenecks and pants, slowly entered.

“Kuryakin?”

“All clear.” Illya didn’t move and a moment later, Solo came around the dresser and immediately holstered his weapon, kneeling beside Illya. “Medic, over here!”

“It’s a scratch,” Illya muttered, although the edge of his vision was blurred with a dark haze.

“Let them decide that.”  Napoleon peeled back the blood soaked cloth and shook his head.  “That’s a helluva day’s work, Agent.  Not only did you take down Lester, you also dropped three of THRUSH’s top snipers.  How the hell did you do…?”

Illya happily succumbed to unconsciousness without answering Solo’s question.  Now he could die a happy man.

                                                                                ****

He faded in and out of awareness for an indeterminable amount of time but he finally let his eyes drift open and he looked around the room.  It was white and smelled of antiseptic.  The lights were low and the sheets crisp and cool.    He felt like he could stay like this forever, but as an agent, forever only lasted a few minutes and he grew restless.

He shifted slightly in bed, wincing at the twinges and pains that happily announced their presence.

The door opened and a nurse looked in.  She disappeared and then reappeared with a man Illya guessed was a doctor because of his white jacket and stethoscope.

“Ah, Mr. Kuryakin, you are back with us.”

“I think so,” Illya’s throat felt rusty and the nurse poured some water and offered to him with a straw.

“Just a sip or two first,” she cautioned.

Illya resisted sucking down a great mouthful, but it was hard.

“You should be out of here in a couple of days, young man. I’m Dr. Dente, the guy who sewed you up.  The damage to your shoulder was minimal.  A few weeks in rehab and you will be as good as new.”   He consulted the sheet.  “There was a little damage to your rectum.   A couple of stitches were all that was needed.  You’ll be on clear liquids for the next few days, just to be sure.”

There was a knock and Napoleon Solo stuck his head in.

“Be with you in a minute, Mr. Solo.”

That didn’t stop Solo from coming in.  “How’s our patient doing, Doc?”

“If you leave him alone, he’ll do just fine.”

“Not in the cards, Doc.  Sorry.”

Illya watched the two men jockey for a moment and then cleared his throat.  “I think I’ll have the final word in that.”

“So you shall, Mr. Kuryakin.”  Dente glared at Solo as he walked from the room.  “Get some rest, son, and don’t let him badger you.”

“There are no worries about that, Doctor.  Thank you.”

  The door closed and Solo turned back to Illya.  “I’m not sure what you have more of, Mr. Kuryakin, brains or balls.”

Illya tried to sit up again and winced.  “I know which one I’d like to have less of at the moment.”

Solo moved the bed into an upright position.  “You could have been killed.”

“But I wasn’t and THRUSH is less one player.”

“Four less players.  You took out three of their snipers as well.  They weren’t expecting you.”

“They never expect the short ones,” Illya muttered, closing his eyes.  Then he reopened them at the sound of Solo’s chuckle.  He was holding out something.

“Here.”

“What is this?”

“Your field commission.  After a stunt like that, I figured I’d better promote you for the good of the organization.  Of course, you’ll be assigned to desk work for the next month or so until your arm is up to snuff.”  He handed Illya more water.  This time Illya ignored the straw and drank it in two gulps.

“I don’t need a month.”  The fuzziness was leaving him, replaced by a dull throb.  It was an honest and real sensation, not masked.

“Yeah, but I want my partner to be totally up to speed.”

“Your… partner?”  Illya coughed and winced.  Solo patted his back and nodded.

“Yup, you need someone to watch your back and so do I.  Since we seem to be equally crazy, I figured we’d be a good match.  I’ve already sent the request up to Mr. Waverly.  Besides, I understand you can type.”

“I can…”

“Then guess who is going to get stuck with the reports?”  Solo… no, Napoleon laughed and Illya managed a weak smile.

“But  I … I kissed you.”

“You did and once you are feeling better, we’ll discuss that as well.  Let’s just say, I think it’s the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”  Napoleon patted Illya’s good shoulder.  “Now get some rest.”

 “Why do I have a feeling that I just released the genie from the bottle…?” Illya watched the man leave and leaned back in bed.  If nothing else, at least his next letter home would be about more than just the idle comments about the weather.

 


End file.
